THE AMAZING INTERNET AND THE CHARMING SCOUNDREL:

Ahhh, but it seems that we lowly wenches are underestimated in our abilities to find out what we need to know/what we SHOULD know when it comes to face-to-face meetings with self-proclaimed (and rightly so) charming scoundrels. However, I am (pardon me if this sounds cocky, but I am) a little brighter than the average wench, a lot more driven to gather information if I have a “need to know” and so much more tenacious when I am driven to be so.

This particular charming scoundrel, while amazingly bright, was not so clever at hiding his tracks, and I, in my usual state of self-awareness, decided to do my own search based on tiny clues he provided (even though he lied both about his age and his marital status). Most of what he said was true. While I have little interest in “carrying on” with a man who lies about rather important things, it should be noted that I discovered his true identity by a dead-on Google search.

Of course, a scoundrel, being what he is, will vehemently deny the evidence even when confronted, and lay claim to a crazed female stalking him and causing him undue (???) pain and suffering so that he must disappear quickly. [ED: I was not the crazed female and doubt that one really exists.] Oh, the tragedy of it all (smirk).

You might have won the battle, Robert M., a/k/a charming scoundrel, but I won the war.

Pixels may lie. Voices usually don’t, deep New York voices, in particular. Don’t mess with a future bounty hunter, sugar.

https://wenchwit.wordpress.com/

Every day is a holiday and every meal a feast.” I have firm opinions/glitches that are MY opinions and glitches. As such, editorial comments are neither warranted nor welcome.

I am “rebel red” over the current outsourcing of work overseas. It impacts MY life directly and I know of many others who have experienced the fallout from this travesty. The U.S., allegedly the melting pot, is so far off the mark from the great country of our forefathers. While I enjoy the benefits not enjoyed in other countries, can walk the streets freely without having to follow several paces behind the stronger (cough, gag, puke) gender, do not have to hide behind a veil, and am allowed to get pregnant, have an abortion, vote, work and earn the same level of income as a man in the same position, walk into a bar without a man on my arm, dance naked, whatever, I am U.S. born and bred, have sworn my allegiance to the red, white and blue, and am a tax-paying, God-fearing citizen. To wit: To those of you who live here, take advantage of the programs, fail to pay taxes, cross the borders illegally, etc. — PUT YOUR HEART IN DIXIE OR GET YOUR ASS OUT.

More wenchie flinches:

I am an animal lover. I currently have 2 cats. We, by virtue of our lease, are not allowed doggies. My Monique met her maker last year, and I thank the neighbor’s flea-bitten beast for that. Actually, it was not the dog-beast’s fault, but the onus should be placed squarely on the neighbor bitch for not addressing her dog’s flea issues. Did I ever tell you I am NOT a people person generally? Monique was allergic to fleas and allergic to the toxic chemicals used to treat flea infestations. She became gravely ill from a flea infestation (no doubt generated by the neighbor’s dog rolling around in MY yard) and died suddenly while I was gone for but a few minutes. I miss her to this day. She loved me. She was a people-cat. Not half-cat, half-human, but she didn’t have quite the independent “fuck you very much” attitude that most cats have. I like the independence but I really loved that she nestled on my pillow, curled up in the curve of my bent leg while I was sleeping, climbed on my lap while I was working. Her death was unnecessary and I blame my neighbor. My neighbor is an aging old biddy with a rottweiler. Her rottweiler shits in MY yard. She (aforementioned biddy) additionally has so many damn lawn ornaments that the outside of her house looks like an episode of “Petticoat Junction” gone awry. Twirly things and pink things and these garish sunflowers that light up at night. I could live with that. I cannot live with the doggie doo that “Angel” deposits on my lawn on a daily basis, nor can I tolerate the fact that Ms. Biddy seems oblivious to her duties as a pet owner. I believe in fighting fire with fire (noooo….you have got to be kidding…). I chop the grade-school-child-sized turds into small pieces with the shovel and plant them in sporadic places in her yard. The next step, if the aforementioned dumbshit biddy doesn’t get the message (it really does take a ton of bricks with some folks), will be a nightly deposit of kitty litter in her pansy patch. They aren’t really pansies, I don’t think, but pansy patch has such a nice ring to it. I did specifically ASK the aforementioned Ms. Biddy to clean up after her pet and to keep it out of my yard if she was not willing to do so. She has chosen to ignore my request. Two words, Ms. Biddy. LEASH LAW. The local men in blue, though I am not generally a fan of men in blue (coppers), asked that I take pictures of the dog running loose, doing its bidness in my yard, etc., and Ms. Biddy will be fined appropriately. The current going rate for said fine is 100 smackers. Some unknown person might even make an anonymous call to Animal Control to have Ms. Biddy’s dog investigated for shots and such things. That’s a 250-dollar fine if said pet owner a/k/a Ms. Biddy has not taken her pet ownership responsibilities seriously. There were plans to move away from Ms. Biddy soon. However, the current economic situation for my contractor/friend eliminated that possibility until there is an economic upturn sometime in the next century. So, instead, we will do battle…and I have every confidence that I will eventually win.

Thanks for joining me!

Good company in a journey makes the way seem shorter. — Izaak Walton